


Run, Esteemed Woman, And Remember

by Lunarium



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Against all odds, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eucatastrophe, F/M, Minor Character Death, Recovery, Reunions, Soul Bond, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-06 10:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15884424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/pseuds/Lunarium
Summary: A company of dwarves come across a startling discovery while chopping trees in a forest, and King Thranduil is left to face with a love he had buried long ago, a grief rekindled, and piece together a mystery of how the Queen of Mirkwood had survived a devastating attack.





	Run, Esteemed Woman, And Remember

**Author's Note:**

> Beautiful art is by [Dahmumu](http://dahmumu.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Many, many thanks to my wonder betas Raiyana and Rox! All my love and gratitude to you both! <3

The band of dwarves stood, half of them bowed and the other half kneeling, before the elvenking of Mirkwood, awaiting his reaction after their leader had finished speaking. 

The king’s cold blue eyes settled over them like a cloud, the threat of a storm just looming over the horizon. Stories of his ruthlessness and cruelty were just rumors, though not baseless by any means. The late King Thorin had clashed horribly with him while merely trying to get his company through the forests of Mirkwood to reclaim their homeland of Erebor just east of the elven realms. Thorin’s simple story and plea had fallen on deaf ears. 

But this story was of a different manner, the stakes far too close to home, and far too close to the elvenking’s heart. It appeared as though the boughs of the trees which were melded into the ground stirred at the dwarves’ words, and the canopy of leaves high above shook as if a shiver had run through the branches. Sunlight blinked through, glimmering in shades of emeralds, amber, and rubies on the marble floor. 

And still the elvenking regarded them as a faraway, looming storm. 

After some time, Nar dared a few steps forward and gave a steep respectful bow. 

“My lord, we understand this news may be alarming,” he began, “but—”

“How?” The singular word, though spoken softly, seemed to hush all other sound. The trees above stilled as if frightened by the coming storm; the boughs ceased shaking. The elvenking stood, towering over the band of dwarves even as he descended the steps towards them, piercing gaze studying them one by one. 

“How?” he repeated. “And why? Why do you disturb my morning with such distressing news? And _how_ , how do you come to me claiming such a find years—centuries!—after I had buried my wife?” 

The dwarves all flinched at his words. Eventually Lofar took a few steps forward and bowed so low his nose pecked the surface of the landing. 

“My lord…we do not mean to cause you any distress.” His words were fair, a bard’s voice calming the tensions of the present company. “My cousin and myself, we have come from the Iron Hills and knew nothing of your perils. A couple of our friends from the Lonely Mountain were visiting us, my cousin, myself, and a number more when they proposed we should travel north to live with them. About that time my own brother’s party was coming from the Red Mountains after their bit of trade with our cousinfolk there, so we had proposed to meet them by the Sea of Rhûn before we journeyed north to the Lonely Mountain.

“Our travels south were unremarkable, and safely we had met up by the sea. After we had converged and had a bit of rest, we headed off north, hasty and eager to reach our destination. We had crossed the northern border of the North Farthing when we needed rest, so we settled by the River Running. The following morning a few of our company, myself included, set out to fell some wood for our campfire when I came upon a strange discovery deep in the forest: 

“There lodged under a large fallen tree, amidst some twisted tree roots and boughs lay a bundle of branches and leaves, and tightly-woven vines as if by the work of clever hands, and the length was taller than myself and one more of my company combined. I perceived it could have been man or elf, and a moment later discerned it could have been some sort of burial for the deceased. But when we gathered about this bundle and tucked her away from under the branches, we noticed a tiny relief in the bundle that allowed for her to breath, and indeed when we peered inside we could see the shape of her nose and mouth!

“And, more remarkable still, this woman was…alive! 

“We offered her broth and anything we had from our provisions, unaware we were speaking with the Queen of Mirkwood. She seldom moved nor spoke, and if it weren’t for the red of her lips and the warmth of her skin, little though we may glean and touch of it, we would have taken her for dead. 

“But we asked her questions, my lord. Of her name, of where she had come from. At last Hannar asked if she was too afraid to speak, and that was when she began to break down. Onar, being the eldest among us, then recalled to us the tale of your queen’s disappearance, and we began to suspect she was the missing elvenqueen. But how strange, we thought, for she was missing for so long, and she was so far away from her land!

“But when we mentioned Mirkwood, among other realms, to see how she would react, she flinched horribly at the name of your realm, my lord, and then we had to conclude: she must be the missing queen.” 

For a time the elvenking did not speak, though he stood tall as a tree, peering into the distance as if seeing the past through a mist. Then he encircled the band of dwarves, speaking in a low voice that contained none of the earlier hostility. 

“She left for Rhûn, to serve as an ambassador to one of our fellow elven tribes from the East,” the elvenking explained. “That was many _many_ moons ago, long before the Quest for Erebor and the War of the Ring. We never heard back from her. Later we would learn the company of elves who awaited for my wife were the last to see of them. A party was dispatched to search for her whereabouts—I travelled with them myself…but we never found her. Only the remains of her carriage and the signs of an orc raid did we discover, and the signs of others in her company. There were remains we could not identify, but in the end we…assumed the worst...” 

The light seemed to dim along with his voice, growing silent as his story drew to a close. The dwarves all bowed their heads in respect, save for Lofar, who had bowed his head for only a moment before looking up with hope in his eyes. 

“But perhaps she is still alive,” he said, smiling up at the elvenking with the innocent hope of one as young as he. 

“After all this time?” the elvenking said before at last daring his gaze towards the bundle that lay behind the group of dwarves. She had barely stirred at all during all the time the dwarves had spoken, still as a rock. For one instance, the dwarf thought he had seen fear in the king’s eyes before resolve overtook him. 

“Bring her to my quarters,” the elvenking ordered his guards before returning to the dwarves. “As for the rest of you, speak no more of this to anyone! You are dismissed from my halls.”

*

There had been no body to bury on the day of Queen Golassien’s funeral, but King Thranduil had taken that day as his moment to let go of the woman who had captured his heart so many eons ago in the young days of the kingdom. It had went by another name then; Eryn Galen it was called then, a woodland of splendor, just like his beloved.

“Now Mirkwood has gone murkier,” he said as he set flowers upon the mound to mark her grave. “But I release you, my queen, my love. If your body were in pain, may your spirit see relief in death. If your body were your prison, may your spirit find release from its chains.” 

And the moment he had set the flowers down, he had willed himself to set her free from his heart, lest grief would crush it to dust. 

Though residual grief had resurfaced from time to time since, haunted by the memory of her, as seasons turned and the smallest of things would remind him of her, the smallest reminders bringing back her presence, though he was no fool to dare hope she would truly return. 

In time, his heart had healed, and he found some means to carry on without her. 

But now his wife sat before him, miraculously alive though in the most peculiar state. He was most certain it was Golassien, for he recognized her full lips—the color of the berry-red flowers that grew encircling the front gates of their kingdom. How many time had he kissed those lips, studied them as his wife slept, hoping to touch them but fearing to rouse her awake by accident? How many times had he dreamt of them in their youth before their bonding? 

The skin around those lips was still warm with the smallest hint of color. His wife was still there, still present, still with him, just inches away. Somehow alive after all of these years. 

And still she had not spoken a single word to him. 

He settled beside her. He would have reached for her hand, but he could find no spot, no relief in the branches and vines that wrapped about his wife tightly. The colors of the leaves were still young and vibrant in the colors of autumn: hues of rubies and emeralds and ambers, mockery of the jewelry that had once adorned her form. Strange, he thought, that the leaves would still be such vibrant color, if she were in such a suspended state for so many years. How did this come to pass? 

“Golassien?” he said softly, his voice breaking the silence hesitantly; unbecoming a mighty king who had angered many during his reign and made many enemies. If any had the power to put King Thranduil on his knees, however, it was Queen Golassien. “Golassien, my beloved wife…do you know where you are?” He leaned an inch closer. “You are home. You are safe now.” 

If she had heard or understood him, she gave no sign of it. 

He turned his head, studying around the cocoon of vines and leaves. Though there was little to see through tiny gaps here and there in the tight weaves of branches, he could somehow tell she was still whole. Scared, shaken, but whole. Not a leg was missing. Nor an arm. Nor a finger. A strange fate had befallen her, and should he take the dwarves’ tales as fact, then she had last reacted when they had mentioned Mirkwood.

“Golassien, you are home. You are in the presence of your husband. Do you not feel me near?” 

He thought he could detect the slightest shift in her demeanor, but it was enough. A thought came to him, an idea that, hesitant as he was to use it before, now appeared the best course of action. 

The two had been bonded for many happy years, their love planted and sown in the green spring of their kingdom. And as green as Greenwood had once been, so was their love, vibrant and ever-present, ever-strong. Their only son, Legolas, was the product of that love—proof of its existence. 

Legolas was still a young child when Golassien had gone east to Rhûn to do business with their Eastern allies. A queen though she became, Golassien had been an ambassador from the Penni tribe of the Green elves when Thranduil and his father had traveled west from Doriath. Being a diplomat, now for her own kingdom, was her calling; she never shirked the duties of her new status. 

Thranduil shifted so he could sit comfortably before her. He slipped his hand under the leaves, brushing his fingers over her cheek. His thumb brushed around her chin, tracing the lips that he wished to kiss again. 

This close, he could feel her spirit vibrating within the confinements of her body—a vibrant affirmation that she _lived_. 

“Golassien...” 

Closing his eyes, he reached out with his mind and his own spirit, brushing softly against hers, letting her know that she was not alone - that she had no reason to be afraid. 

_I am here._

There was a brief moment of resistance before Thranduil felt himself sinking deeper into her presence. She opened up to him, and he smiled. The silent acceptance, trust…curiosity… her emotions lapped gently at him, testing the connection. 

He drew in a deep breath, reaching further. 

_Remember me, my wife, my forever love. Remember me, Golassien._

_Tell me what happened. Tell me how you…survived._

He felt her spirit growing warmer, and a hot gust of air against his wrist as her lips parted. Suddenly, she gasped.

*

“Are you missing your son already?” Nídhwen teased brightly. While most would not have been so free when speaking to the elvenqueen, Nídhwen was the youngest among the company accompanying Queen Golassien east and an elf whom the queen had known since Nídhwen still clung to her mother’s breast. The queen adored her as if she were her own, and so she only laughed at her friend’s question.

“Only natural, my dear Nídhwen,” Queen Golassien said. “I have rested for two months after giving birth to my child, and when I finally left my quarters, my entire life became dedicated to him. But oh! Do not think I regretted it for a moment! I simply could not leave him; I nearly left my appointed nurse with no duty herself! And my little one simply adored me that I could not part from him either! I wrote him many a songs and sang for him! By the time I would find myself outside the borders it would not be until now, and I was surprised to find myself hating it!” 

“Oh my! Do we turn back?” Nídhwen asked. 

“Do not be foolish, my dear,” the queen laughed. “This is the first time I am stepping back in the wider world, but yes, I do miss my son very much. And for that matter, yes, I miss my husband too despite all of his doting that, love him as much as I do, got on my nerves!” 

Maldis, one of the Queen’s guards, spun around with a hand over her mouth as if the queen had just spoke of treason against the mighty woodland king. That only increased the queen’s amusement, and even her fellow guard Fandir joined in. 

The two women giggled as their horses trotted along the path. 

The familiar and comforting canopy of their forest had long-since been left behind and the vast open sky stretched above their heads. The sun shone brightly, and when clouds rolled across the horizon, they signaled the coming of evening. The skies often grew overcast in the hours before dusk, though whether that meant rain was not always certain. The soil was wet and fertile, and the forests thick and plenty, and the rivers lively. Rain came plenty, but not every night. 

Maldis and Fandir kept watch as Queen Golassien and Nídhwen rested for the evening, taking turns so that the other could get their share of rest before the dawn. 

The journey to Rhûn had been uneventful save for the usual tellings of jokes, and a handful of benign pranks during their wash by the river that the queen and her handmaiden had inflicted on poor Maldis and Fandir, who had in turned pretended to commit mutiny against their queen and friend. 

Their allies in Dorwinion welcomed them with open arms, led by their own leader Ylvion and plentiful of their famous heady wine. Their lands were fruitful and vibrant even in the fast approaching autumn. Autumn meant harvest of grapes and thus the peak production of their wine, and the visiting Queen was offered a tour of the wineries. 

“I’d love to see how your wines are made!” Nídhwen exclaimed excitedly before Queen Golassien gently reminded her that they were on business duty, as much as the gifts were appreciated. “But, should we have time after our council…” 

They stayed in Dorwinion for about a fortnight, till they had been rested well from their travels and had seen to all of their affairs. Their hosts bid them farewell, and Ylvion had his people sing songs for them and give a final toast before they head out. 

“What did you think?” Queen Golassien asked Nídhwen after their horses had left the border gates and made it back on the main path. 

Nídhwen gave a mighty sigh. The sunlight glimmered in her honey-brown eyes, and affection grew in the queen’s heart for her young friend. “For my first time out of Mirkwood, I dare not imagine what could be better than this! I could not have asked for a better experience outside my king’s halls!” 

The queen smiled. _And there will be many more journeys to Dorwinion_ , she thought fondly.

*

It was on their third day of travel that Maldis lifted her hand, signaling a halt.

“Orcs,” she said, lips barely moving, her eyebrows furrowed. “They’re near.” 

No sooner had the words left her lips than the pack came charging towards them. One of the larger orcs grabbed Nídhwen right off her horse and tore her to pieces before the queen could blink. Nidwhen’s warm blood splattered across Golassien’s cheek and dress. 

“Run!” Maldis ordered as she and Fandir charged towards the orcs, throwing themselves between the queen and the orcs. 

Without another thought, Golassien ran off, her mind still replaying Nídhwen’s horrifying end. Her friend, her friend, her friend—

 _Maldis and Fandir are going to die too!_

_—I cannot, what can I do to protect them?_

She tripped on a heavy stone and fell hard on the ground. Her nose stung from the impact, but she rolled and kicked herself back to her feet, screaming at a sudden stab of pain that she did her best to ignore. Feet pounding the ground, Golassien sped on, fearing pursuit. 

She did not rest until she reached a large boulder at the mouth of a forest, leaning heavily against the rock-face, panting and worn out. As merry and content as their visit to Dorwinion had made them, it had left them carefree and laid back, thus vulnerable to attack. They were foolish to let their guards down for even a moment. 

Realizing she had climbed a small hill, she peered out and gasped. 

Either the orcs or one of her guards had begun a blazing fire. It consumed their carriage that had been ladened with the goods and the signed treaty from Dorwinion. 

“Cursed fate!” she sobbed. The journey had gone too well. The road to Dorwinion had been too smooth, and the meetings with fellow ambassadors had went without any problems or disagreements. Could any of them have predicted the horrors that awaited them after leaving the borders of Dorwinion? 

She glanced down, taking in the sight of her friend’s blood spattered across her dress with a gasp as the realization sank in. 

She had lost Nídhwen. She had lost her friend. And Maldis and Fandir were as good as dead. 

A sharp pain shot up her leg, and that was when she searched for the source of the pain. Her ankle had sprained when she had fallen, but in her terror she had kept running even in an injured state. It only led to her foot getting worse, and now she wasn’t sure if she could get up. 

The ground trembled beneath her. 

She peered over the hill again, and that was when she saw them. 

More orcs. And they were heading her way. 

She cowered closer to the large rock, trying to make herself invisible. She wept as her thoughts once more turned to the ones she had left behind. She was never going to see her son again. Legolas would grow up and never know what had happened to his mother, know how her voice sounded, that she had many more songs for him, that she loved him very much.

She was never going to see her husband again, her Thranduil, who she loved above all others. 

The ground shook beneath her feet again, and she flinched, sinking further into herself. A rumble sounded moments later, a sort of “Mmrrrr—bbbbrrubbrruu,” and then…

“Why do you hide, little elf?” 

Golassien gasped again, her head shooting up at the sound of a rustle of leaves right above her head. A tall thin tree that had not been there moments before stood right next to her, although perhaps _tree_ was an inappropriate term. 

Her heart knew their name, though her mind was still frozen in terror of the approaching orcs. In the time that she looked up, another tree-like being had appeared. Perhaps more startling was that, though Golassien was unsure how she knew, but she was certain they were the elusive wives of ents, which many tales had spoken of. 

“The orcs are coming,” Golassien answered the first ent-wife. “They killed my friends, and I fear they are searching for me.” 

“Mmrr, an orc is of no concern to us,” said the second ent-wife. “Nasty creatures. We crush them if they attempt to strip us of a branch.” 

“But what can _I_ do?” Golassien said. “I do not have sword nor bow with me, and my leg is injured. My handmaiden has been killed, and I fear for my guards—I am powerless to help them!” 

The first ent-wife tugged on her branches, pulling out strands of leaves and long, thin yet strong vines. “This will protect you, my dear. Wear this, and run into my forest. Many more of my leaves will find their way to you and protect you.”

“How?” she wanted to ask, but decided against it. She would take anything to protect herself at this point—the thought of dying by fire or blade or any brutal force terrified her. “What of my friends?!” 

“Brrrububburubu…their fates appear to have been already decided, little elf.” 

“But…I am their queen! I cannot leave them!” She begged them with her eyes, but the first stooped and caressed the top of her head.

“Worry not…one survivor is a victory to the free peoples…one survivor is a defeat to the orcs…”

An ent truly did not care for the fate of the world, Golassien thought. One survivor or not, it did not matter; she would forever mourn the ones who died. But they were giving her an out, a way to escape the orcs. And the orcs were coming fast. She placed the garland over her head and peered into the forest. She stood up and winced. Her foot seared with pain, but the alternative was far worse. Sweat trickled down her temples. 

“Ah, you must take caution among the leaves,” the second ent-wife spoke, “for you may lose memory of yourself and your life as you wait for rescue.” 

Golassien’s heart sank. “How long will I be here?” 

“How long? Time…is different for us, little elf,” the first ent-wife said. “It is only important that you remember who you are. Now, run, little elf! Run, queen of the woodlands… and remember!” 

The orc had spotted her. Without another thought, she sprung into the forest, ignoring the searing pain in her ankle, her feet smashing against a sheet of autumn leaves. 

The first ent-wife’s magic took effect almost instantaneous. As if sensing her plight, more vines from the pile of autumn leaves began weaving around her legs. She gave a tiny moan of contentment, enjoying the pressure against her wounded ankle. Then the vines wrapped around her legs, drawing upward. No longer able to stand, she fell onto the forest floor as the branches, vines, and leaves continued to wrap around her. They rolled her up against another fallen tree in the forest, tucking her right beneath, protecting her from view. Her heart still hammered in her chest; would this work? 

A song drifted in the air, and her eyes began to droop. She rested her head on the forest floor just as the leaves wrapped around her head, the slight pressure comforting and soft. She felt safe, even as a heavy trod threatened the forest ground. The storm soon passed, and all was calm. She was safe. Everything was well. 

Somewhere deep in the lullaby, a voice drifted over to her: “Remember who you are,” the ent-wife said again. “Think of your home, the people you love. Imagine yourself running in your forests, little elf. Remember!”

*

The news of the orc attack reached King Thranduil some time later. Guards stationed over on the highest towers on the eastern borders of Mirkwood had noted orc activity, and surmised they had come from the region of Rhûn. At least two had noted blood on their armor, though it was too little to assume them a threat to themselves. One of the guards with the sharpest of sights had noted some smoke far off in the distance, though it was not enough to assume a connection with the orcs they had seen passing through.

Yet, the king had called for his guards to take them down, all but one who he had interrogated. Worried, he had noted that the timing of their presence and the timing of when his wife’s company was meant to return to Mirkwood had an overlap. 

The orc had been uncooperative, as he had expected, and had only sneered at his questions. 

“The lady… so soft...ripped her body apart,” he had spoken, his voice gargled with dried blood and sinew. “Small and tender she was! Gave way so easily...just a little tug, yesss!” 

One of Thranduil’s guards looked away, hand on his mouth, looking sick to his stomach. The king had heard enough as well. He swung his sword swiftly across the orc’s neck, and as the head rolled pass his feet he called for his army to go searching for the traveling company. 

Thranduil went with them. Legolas was still very young, but he was entrusted in the care of a nurse while the king was away. 

The king made a silent promise to Golassien: should he find any orcs along the way, they would all die by his blade. 

The ride east was torturous, as no horses’ speed could go as fast as the king had wished. His heart grew sick with worry and fear, and in desperation he reached out with his spirit, sensing her presence, faded though it was, which he assumed was by distance. She was still out there, and that gladdened his heart and strengthened his resolve to get to the site of attack. This connection kept his mind at ease in the slow agonizing hours of the night as his party rested from their travels. Though they kept their periods of rest short and brief, for respect of their quest and for their king, still he could not eat nor sleep, nor could he until he was certain Golassien and her party was safe.

*

Running. She was running in the forest, feet slapping against wet ground, soles tickled by drenched leaves and tiny branches, her feet sinking into soft soil, the scent of rain on vegetation, her maidens’ singing in the background. A dance, a festival.

 _Run, esteemed woman, and remember!_

She was the elvenqueen, and she danced for her people. The forest was her kingdom. It breathed with her. It danced with her.

*

Smoke had long thinned out, dissipating into the air, though a residual smell still lingered of the earlier crime. The broken carriage and the carcass of a horse were recognizable enough to draw the searching company to a halt. They awaited anxiously for their king’s next order.

King Thranduil dismounted from his horse and approached the scene, studying the remains. No sign of Golassien, no hint that she had been in the carriage or riding the horse. He signaled for the healer to join him, and they sifted through the burnt remains. 

“Those are the remains of a body,” the healer said. “But no…I do not believe that is her. They are wearing armor of a traveling guard, my lord.” 

King Thranduil heaved a heavy sigh, relieved it was not his wife but terribly grieved all the same. “Maldis or Fandir then.” He turned to his men. “Search out! One body has been found. We have three more to identify!”

*

The wind swept around her ankles, tickling her. She smiled up to the moon, so silver and beautiful and bright. It willed her to dance, and she took the glade as her dancing stage, feeling the night wind pick up and caress her cool fingers against her flushed cheek. She chuckled as her auburn hair rippled about her face.

And that was when she became aware of a set of eyes watching her. She drew to a standstill, alert but not afraid, for the one watching was no foe. That she could perceive immediately from his spirit. 

An elf much like herself, his eyes grey and wise, stood by the thicket of trees. He regarded her as though she were starlight, and he himself appeared like the moon incarnate, grey-eyed and golden-haired. 

“You must be of the Sindar,” she said, folding her arms behind her back playfully. “Have you traveled from the west? I have heard tidings of your adventures!” 

The elf shook himself out of his thoughts. “Yes, I am! I come with my father!” 

Golassien giggled. “Your father! How adorable!”

*

Golassien stirred in her dream, though the action was slight and uncaught by even the sharpest sights among the guards and King Thranduil himself. He stood right beside a large fallen tree, his foot just inches from her nose, and peered around the forest with a heart that was only growing heavier by the moment.

“There is no one here, my lord,” the guards reported. “None of the company had made it safely up the hill.” 

“Then the torn remains must have been both…” The healer did not complete his sentence. They had found more remains, but discerning whether it was the queen herself or her handmaiden wasn’t possible. Fire had taken hold of the elves, marring their bodies to such degree that identification was near impossible. Both of the women had worn dresses, and both scraps of bodies they had found were wearing dresses. 

It was impossible to tell if it belonged to the queen and Nídhwen or just Nídhwen. King Thranduil wasn’t sure which he preferred. 

After searching for days, even King Thranduil, weary and ill and near death himself, concluded that his wife had perished in the orc raid, though a body had never been recovered. 

Beside a large fallen tree, he grieved mightily for her, unaware, or perhaps unseeing, the mass of entwined vines and leaves tucked under the tree.

*

“I was so close.” King Thranduil leaned back, thus breaking the soul-connection. Overwhelmed with emotions, he sat there, close to tears. “I came so close to you, all those years ago. But it never occurred to me…an ent-wife! I never would have—no one has ever seen them! Heard tidings of them! The ents seek them still—how—”

He covered his face in his hands, weeping his fate. “They had saved you, my wife, but at what cost? What strange fate has befallen you? For how many years have you been in this state, frozen and unable to see the light? You missed out on seeing your son grow! You did not see the reclaiming of Erebor, nor the rebirth of Dale. Your heart would have gladdened! 

“And fairer news has since arrived, my queen. For the Shadow has been lifted. The orcs who had once terrorized you are so few in numbers that they pose no more threat, and those who we do see wish no battle and only to keep to their own affairs. 

“And if only were our son here to see you, but he has become a lord of his own realm, down in the west to a land known as Ithilien. A small number of our people have joined him there, as have a number of elves from Lothlórien. They say it is a fair land for elves and dwarves.” 

He smiled sadly to himself. “And shadow too has been lifted here that were I to rename our kingdom, I would call it Eryn Lasgalen, as we had once called it Eryn Galen. Remember not those fair days, my dear wife?” 

“Eryn Galen. Ithilien…Ithil…”

The voice, soft yet striking through his heart as though he dared not to ever hear it again, echoed through the still chamber. A rustle of leaves followed, and a small, shaking, but warm and pink and whole, hand slipped from within the encasing of vines, and Golassien clasped her husband’s hand. 

He looked back and could see that, from deep within the vines, a pair of glimmering bright green eyes was studying him. Her lips moved and she spoke again, beautiful and like the first breaths of dawn: 

“I remember.”

**Author's Note:**

> The dwarves mentioned here, save for Onar, were the dwarves Tolkien considered to appear in an earlier draft of “A Long-expected Party.” All of the dwarf names come from the Dvergatal.


End file.
